


And in the Death of Hope We Face

by Shanza



Series: In the Death of Hope [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Dark, I CANNOT EMPHASIZE ENOUGH THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY, It's the walking dead after all, Negan (Walking Dead) is John Winchester, Not a Happy Story, Well besides the zombies in TWD, Winchesters used to be vigilantes, before the world ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanza/pseuds/Shanza
Summary: In a world where the supernatural does not exist, where monsters were only human until a virus changed everything, Mary Winchester died in a home invasion.  John Winchester took his boys and went after those who killed her.This story is set sometime before season 6 of the Walking Dead and is completely AU for Supernatural.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: In the Death of Hope [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616704
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	And in the Death of Hope We Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RuaAtha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuaAtha/gifts).



> So ... I got this crazy idea to merge John Winchester and Negan together, and this is what happened. 
> 
> Massive shout out and thanks to RuaAtha, without whom this story would still be sitting on my hard drive. Likely for all eternity. (Seriously. I finished writing it over a two... almost three years ago. Oops.)

"Dean."

"I see it," Dean replied quietly, taking his foot off the gas as they came around the bend in the road. The stolen truck was five hundred yards ahead, stopped dead in the middle of the road. Three of the doors were standing open, abandoned.

The Impala glide forward, her engine rumbling softly - or as soft as she ever got - while Dean eyed the surroundings. Other than the barn ahead, there was nothing else in sight. Fields that had once likely grown grain stretched out on either side of them, and in the distance, the forest started back up. "You think they made the forest?"

"Doubt it. We were right on their heels."

He shifted the Impala into park and killed the engine as they rolled to a stop a couple dozen yards behind the truck. "Ambush?"

Sam shot him a withering look. "Unless they found an armory, I doubt it."

Dean smirked, as Sam drew his gun. 

"Better to be safe," Sam muttered, sliding smoothly from the car as he scanned the area for threats. 

Dean slid out of the driver's seat a moment later, pausing to grab his rifle from its case in the trunk.

Sam was staring at him over the Impala's roof, a slight frown on his face. Dean raised an eyebrow, and Sam's frowned deepened before he looked away. Dean rolled his eyes, and they jogged over to the truck. They moved swiftly and silently, guns up and ready, but nothing moved in the silent landscape except for plants, swaying in the soft breeze. 

Dean jumped on the bed, getting a little extra height to see a little more of the rise and fall of the fields bordering the roads. 

"See anything?" Sam asked.

"Not yet," Dean turned in another small circle. "They must have moved faster than we thought."

Sam leaned back against the truck and slid his gun back into its holster. "We could call it a day."

Dean looked down at him. "You really are looking for a fight." 

"No, I'm not." 

Dean snorted, walking over to Sam's side of the truck. He was about to jump down, when a flicker of light caught his eye. He paused, narrowing his eyes, then brought his rifle up so he could sight through the scope. "Found 'em."

Sam sighed, and followed Dean as he ran for the farm buildings. 

They reached the driveway quickly; it was obvious the buildings had been abandoned and ransacked sometime previous. The farmhouse's front door was hanging open, ajar on its hinges, while the barn's wooden stall doors thudded softly as they swayed in the breeze. They slowed down, Sam fanning out next to him as they quickly passed an old rotting car, and a variety of old junk. 

"Clear the house?" Sam muttered softly. 

"No time," Dean replied, slinging the rifle across his back as he headed for the barn's hayloft. "You got earplugs?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't wait any longer; every moment wasted meant another moment the group got father away.

He was already settling into a comfortable position on the floor, the loft doors swung open wide, before Sam made it up the ladder. 

"I already know what you're going to say, so can it, alright?" Dean grumbled. "I can hear you frowning." The group was much closer from this distance than they had been from the road; it was a farther shot than he would usually make, but good enough. The rifle's cold metal was cool on his cheek, and he shifted position to shift the gun's alignment to sight on the target. 

"You sure it's them?" 

Rustling hay and soft footsteps announced Sam's arrival next to him, and the man was likely staring at the same small group of people that he currently had in his crosshairs. Even before he had had them under the scope, they looked like they were struggling. Now, as he fiddled with the scope's knobs to adjust the focus, they looked exhausted, stumbling along.

Two men, one woman. One tall, two short. They were wearing the same clothes he had seen them in last. The girl had her arm over the shorter man's shoulders and moved like she was limping. "It's them," he said shortly. 

"You don't have to do this."

"They knew they consequences."

"Still. It could be different."

Dean shrugged, resettling the rifle into the hollow of his shoulder. The rifle's crosshairs came to rest on the tall man with reddish hair. Jonas. "But it's not, so stow the bleeding heart, won't you?" He heard Sam shift, stand, and the hay rustle as he stepped away. "We have a job to do." 

"Perfect solider boy, never thinking for himself," Sam snapped, and Dean's finger jerked away from the trigger. 

"Remind me of that next time my solider butt saves your ass," Dean snapped back, angry. "You and Dad - always right, always perfect, even when it’s pretty damn obvious you aren't." He shifted again, tracking the small group as they half-limped, half-ran through the field. His heart was still pounding, anger and adrenaline making him lose focus, and that never helped. He closed his eyes and breathed, willing his pulse to slow. 

"I might be too much like Dad, but you're his golden boy." Sam's voice was softer, and it carried layers Dean wished he knew how to interpret. 

"Goodie me," Dean grunted. He paused, knowing that he should pull the trigger, but he hesitated. The group wasn't moving that fast. He could wait. "You've pushed the pacifist track so much I'm surprised you hadn't run off and joined the hippies," he said, wincing inwardly at the hesitation in his voice.

"Family first, jerk." Sam's voice was layered with sarcasm.

Dean's mouth flickered into a smile. "Shut it, bitch, I'm trying to concentrate."

The world focused, quieted, and narrowed down to his rifle and his targets. He knew Sam would have his back no matter what; he could focus without worrying someone might sneak up on them. 

"We could let them go."

Dean swore as he looked away from the scope to glare at his brother. "What part of 'I'm trying to concentrate' did you not understand? This is a damn long shot for me and this rifle and I'm only going to have surprise on my side once."

"It doesn't have to be like this - _his_ rules -"

"Are there for a reason, and you know the reasons just as well as I do."

Sam leaned back against the wall, tossing a knife into the air, a frown on his face. Dean watched the hunting knife spiral lazily for a moment, the sun glinting off the metal. 

"Do you ever wonder..."

"Wonder what?" 

"About Dad." 

"That's a broad topic," Dean said drily, returning his attention to the rifle. 

"About how things are." 

"It's best not to dwell on if's and might-have-been’s." Dean sighed, bringing the scope around to focus on the first man in the group. " That man broke a long time ago. The fact that the world went to hell just finished the process."

"Still," Sam muttered. 

Dean breathed out, tightening his finger on the trigger. It pulled easily, the man going down in a spray of blood. The rifle recoil was absorbed and adjusted for. The other two were still frozen, staring, as Dean drew a bead on the second man. They panicked, Mathew dropping the girl and bolting for the tree line, only a dozen yards away from where he stood. He'd never make it. Dean caught the man's arm with his first shot, sending him spinning to the dirt. The man was halfway to his feet, trying to duck sideways, when Dean's second bullet tore through the base of his skull. Dean winced. He'd been aiming for center mass. 

Now the only one left was Leah...

He found her, a moment later, trying to scramble sideways in the brush. If it had been a proper grain field, that might have done it. As it was, there simply wasn't enough shrubbery to break up her outline - especially when she was moving. 

He tracked her for a little while, getting his breathing right, before squeezing the trigger. The girl dropped, and after a moment Dean rolled to his feet. The area seemed dead, with even the local birds scared silent by the gunshots. The only sound was the occasional creak from the stall doors below. Sam was silent, staring out at the field. 

Dean pulled the tech-y earplugs out, rolling them in his hand as he let the silence linger. He didn't miss everything about the modern world, but he missed technology. "I'm so going to miss these when they break."

Sam snorted and dropped his knife back in its sheath. "We'd better get going before the walkers get here."

Dean slung the rifle over his shoulder and headed for the ladder. "You know what we need? Sword guns."

"You mean bayonets?" Sam said drily.

"Well, yeah."

Sam laughed. "I'll keep an eye out." 

Dean hit the ground, glancing around for walkers - and taking a second glance for humans. There were a couple of lurching figures moving towards them in the field on the opposite side of the road, but other than that, nothing. 

"Dean, check the house first."

"You got it, boss."

"Oh, shut up." 

They cleared the farmhouse quietly and efficiently; other than surprising a sleeping owl, it was empty of inhabitants. 

"Doubt there's anything left here." Dean asked as he pulled open one empty cupboard after the next. He paused, glancing at his brother. "You always were the best of us, you know."

Sam paused at the front door, looking back at him with a frown on his face. 

Dean shrugged. "You were." 

Sam smiled slightly. "You could be too, you know."

Dean laughed, and leaned against the counter with a sad smile. "Naw, it's too late for me, Sammy."

The house was a waste of time, and the Impala was waiting. The walkers were getting closer. He slipped the gun into the backseat - he'd clean it once they got back. The girl's engine roared to life with barely a touch, and he threw the car into reverse, flipping it around before the walkers could put a hand on his girl. 

He adjusted the rear-view mirror, glancing at the road that stretched away behind him, empty but for the moans of the dead. His hand trailed down the cord hanging from the mirror, coming to a stop at the god's-head amulet. Its horns dug into his palm as he clenched it tight, and he glanced at the empty passenger seat next to him.

His hand dropped back to the steering wheel, and he leaned back in his seat, letting Baby's roar fill the silence where Sam's voice should be.

_You always were the best of us._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Love any comments or kudos, love to know what you think!
> 
> I have more stuff written, but it's in bits and pieces, and this turned into more of a prologue/prequel.


End file.
